The Spy in a Box

by Ralph Dennis

  “I swear by the Beluga.” Brewster selected a toast corner and spooned about ten dollars’ worth of Beluga on it. He placed it on a small dish and poured a shot of the Polish vodka into a chilled glass. He ate the Beluga and washed it down with the almost icy vodka. “However, you may prefer the salmon. You may have become attached to it during your visit to Ireland.”

  “Ireland?” John Cabot Masters raised his eyebrows.

  “The Keep in Kinsale is a nice place,” Brewster said.

  Masters spread a dark round of bread with butter, topped it with smoked salmon and added a sprinkle of freshly ground pepper. He had his back to Brewster the whole time. Brewster backed away. He stopped in the doorway.

  “I have a few matters to discuss with my other luncheon guests. Rude of me, I know, but I think you might occupy your time with a read of the materials I’ve placed in the folder there. I think you’ll find it interesting. Will you forgive me if I’m gone exactly ten minutes? That’s precisely how long I think the reading will take.”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t come here to …”

  “Indulge an old man’s fancy,” Brewster said. “Please.” He stood in the doorway until a puzzled John Cabot Masters seated himself at the table to one side of the solarium and opened the leather-covered folder.

  Stanford Brewster checked his watch as soon as he entered the library. “He’s reading.”

  There was a second bowl of Beluga and the garnishes. It was on a tray on Brewster’s desk. A decanter of Wyborowa vodka was packed in ice on the liquor cart. Brewster took chilled glasses from the freezer under the cart. He poured vodka for the three of them. “I’ve made one other preparation. I’ve told my man to alert me if Mr. Masters decides to leave before lunch.”

  “You think he might?” Hall didn’t especially care for caviar. He spread a token serving on toast and added grated onion.

  Brewster shook his head. “He’ll remain. I don’t think he will gain anything if he leaves before we play the rest of our cards.”

  Hall ate the caviar and washed it down with vodka. He poured a second vodka and held it until it warmed a few degrees. The first vodka had numbed his throat.

  John Cabot Masters waited for them in the solarium. The leather-covered folder was closed on the table and the chair pushed in until the back touched the table’s edge. He was pouring a vodka for himself when Brewster entered and began his introductions.

  Buck Winston first. Masters stared at the sling Buck wore but he didn’t ask about it.

  The real surprise was reserved for the introduction of Hall.

  “Hall …?”

  “William Keith,” Hall said.

  “I see.” Masters said.

  Brewster’s man entered and cleared away the Beluga, the smoked salmon and the decanter of Polish vodka. He returned with another ice bucket in which a 1977 Muscadet rested. After the four were seated, Brewster’s man served lunch. Crepes stuffed with huge chunks of crabmeat, braised lettuce done in the French manner and a mushroom and spinach salad. The Muscadet was crisp and fairly dry. When they finished the first bottle, a 1979 Muscadet was placed in the ice bucket.

  Over a glass of the 1979, John Cabot Masters said, “The 1979 lacks a certain something.”

  Brewster agreed. “I think I miscalculated when I settled upon the order. I suppose we should have tried the 1979 first.”

  The plates cleared away, Brewster’s man served rich dark coffee and a Jean Danflou Armagnac. A sip of the Armagnac and Brewster shook his head. “I’m afraid an Armagnac this smooth and aged somehow defeats the purpose of an Armagnac.”

  “It lacks a certain razor blade sharpness,” Masters said.

  Brewster nodded.

  Hall listened with half a mind. Sooner or later, he knew, they would get down to business. He sipped the coffee and rolled the aged Armagnac on his tongue. The other part of him thought about the one file he had withheld from the stack given to Stanford Brewster. That slim file was packed under his shirts in his suitcase upstairs in the guest wing. A file from the “J” cabinet. That impulse. That thought that had floated to the top of his mind at the last moment when he’d been in the WW Security director’s office. In one sense, there was regret for that impulse. One part of him wished that he’d remained on the proper track and hadn’t wavered.

  Brewster’s man poured refills of coffee and placed the Jean Danflou on the center of the table. He closed the solarium doors on his way out.

  It was time to begin.

  “I’ve seen nothing in the papers,” Brewster said. “But I have heard rumors of some kind of disaster at your Utah open mine at Flat Canyon. I understand it rated about a 3.7 on the earthquake scale.”

  “Was it recorded?”

  Smiling, Brewster shook his head. “An opening move.”

  “I see.” Masters nodded his head in the direction of the leather-covered folder. “It is an interesting fiction.”

  “Not fiction,” Brewster said. “Your designation of this partial selection from the files as a fiction is a fiction itself.”

  John Cabot Masters set his jaw in a hard line. He seemed unwilling to argue the point any longer.

  Buck Winston leaned toward the center of the table and lifted the bottle of Armagnac “Have there been any estimates of the damages at Flat Canyon?”

  “It’s a bit early for that.” Masters shrugged his shoulders. “It might go as high as fifteen or twenty million. Of course, that is without figuring the interruption to the mining. The mine will be out of production for at least three months.”

  “A tidy sum.” Buck nodded at Hall.

  Hall smiled. “It is a tidy sum.”

  “Was there any indication of the cause for the explosions?” Brewster asked Masters.

  “We suspect there was carelessness in the handling of explosive charges used in our mining operation,” Masters said. “The man in charge of that aspect of the work at Flat Canyon would have been discharged by now. However, he was unlucky enough to get himself killed during the accident.”

  “He might be called lucky,” Brewster said. “I understand that Worldwide does not have much tolerance for mistakes.”

  “A business like ours can hardly afford the luxury of incompetence.”

  “Does that attitude extend all the way to the top of the corporate ladder?” Brewster sipped his dark coffee. There was the hint of a smile on his lips.

  “It is a judgment our stockholders will probably make at our next full meeting,” Masters said stiffly.

  Brewster’s man entered and stood near the doorway until Brewster noticed him and nodded. “There is a telephone call for Mr. Masters, sir. The caller insists it is extremely urgent.”

  Brewster stood. “You can take the call in the library.” He led Masters from the solarium. When he returned a few seconds later alone, he was smiling.

  “I think Mr. Masters is about to receive the second part of the message.”

  “I don’t think Buck and I have been briefed,” Hall said.

  “Stiggers couldn’t go west with you. He invented a way to busy himself while you were gone.”

  Masters returned before Brewster could continue with his explanation. He was flushed and perspiring. “I’m afraid it was important. I’ve been called away. I enjoyed lunch and our conversation.”

  “As we did,” Brewster said.

  After goodbyes in the solarium, Brewster walked as far as the driveway with John Cabot Masters. He returned, chilled and blowing on his hands to warm them.

  “This way, gentlemen.” He led them into the library. Brewster circled the desk. He took a small key from his pocket and unlocked a desk drawer on the right side. He opened the drawer. Hall stood behind him and looked down at a small tape recorder.

  Brewster reversed the tape. He found the beginning of the conversation and played it:

  “John?”

  “Yes,” Masters said.

  “It’s Archer.

  “Archer Finster,” Brewster said. “The number
two man at Worldwide.”

  “All hell has broken loose on Wall Street. Every few minutes there’s a new rumor about the events at Flat Canyon.”

  “It will even out,” Masters said.

  “There’s been heavy selling in Kennedy Copper.”

  “It was to be expected under the circumstances.”

  “There’s even a rumor that the S.E.C. is looking at Worldwide. I think it was to do with the July takeover of …”

  “Shut up. Archer. I am not sure how safe this phone is.”

  Brewster pulled a pad toward him. Hall watched while he wrote “July takeover?” in an exact even hand.

  “Sorry, John.”

  “Let’s keep our heads. You say the selling is in Kennedy Copper? The volumne?”

  “It’s approaching a million shares.”

  “Concentrated buying?”

  “Not concentrated,” Archer said.

  “Any pattern in the buying?”

  “It appears to be spread. No big buy.”

  “I’ll be in the office in about two hours. Prepare some kind of statement about Flat Canyon. And use whatever source you have to discover if the S.E.C. is really serious about the investigation of Worldwide.”

  “Hurry back.” Archer said.

  The tape stopped with the click of the broken connection. Brewster closed the drawer and locked it. He leaned forward and touched the pad with a finger. “Interesting bit of information, don’t you think?”

  “You were scatter shooting?” Buck said.

  Brewster nodded. “And now we have a target.” He lifted the phone and placed it closer to him. He dialed the Farm number. “Brewster,” he said. “Zebra four, Charlie two, Charlie one, zebra five.” Brewster drummed his fingers on the desk top while he waited. “Yes, let me speak with Ray Stiggers.” A brief wait. “Brewster here. Yes, Masters just left. While he was here, he had a telephone conversation with Archer Finster. Something in their talk might be helpful to us. Have your people look into a July takeover Worldwide was involved with. I think we’ll find what we need for the S.E.C. investigation.” Brewster closed his eyes, listening, “Yes, they’re here.”

  Hall said, “I’d like a word with Ray.”

  Brewster passed the phone to Hall. He turned to Buck, “Another coffee?”

  The library door closed behind them as the two men walked out.

  “I’m heading south again tonight or early in the morning.” Hall said.

  “Give my best to Denise. I assume I can expect her resignation from the Company in the next few days.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “You’re misunderstanding me. If Rivers had faith in her as an agent, then so do I. It’s her call. Any idea which way she’ll go?”

  “No, I don’t.” Hall said and it was true.

  “How about you? Can I talk you into coming back?”

  “I like it out here in the wind,” Hall said. “However, there is one matter I’d like to discuss with you. How about a couple of late drinks at the Madison Hill Bar and Grill?”

  “How late?”

  “Eleven o’clock. I’ll meet you there.”

  “We waited for you,” Brewster said.

  The table in the solarium had been cleared, the linen cloth replaced by a mat on which the coffee service rested. Hall took a chair and received the fresh cup of coffee Brewster poured for him.

  “By now, or by noon tomorrow,” Brewster said, “John Cabot Masters will be congratulating himself on having weathered that little teapot tempest with the Kennedy Copper stock.”

  “You don’t foresee any real damage?” Hall said.

  “Kennedy Copper will recover today’s losses and perhaps even gain a point or two.”

  “Then I don’t see the point.”

  Brewster dipped his head toward Buck Winston. “Do you have a figure on expenses for our western expedition?”

  “Anywhere from half-a-million to a million. I can have those exact figures in a day or two.”

  “I’ll expect them,” Brewster said. “From my estimate, buying low and selling high tomorrow, our stock manipulation should profit us in the area of two to three million. Perhaps more, perhaps less.”

  “I like that,” Buck said with a big grin.

  “Stiggers thought you might.” Brewster smiled. “It seems a slightly warped justice that Kennedy Copper and their stockholders are going to foot the bill.”

  “It leaves a surplus,” Winston said.

  “Yes?”

  “Our team did this with no expectation of pay,” Buck said.

  “Twenty-five thousand a man? Is that fair?”

  “Fair enough,” Buck said.

  “Maybe we ought to talk with an insurance company.” Hall sipped his coffee. “How much is a leg worth?”

  “A hundred thousand?” Brewster look toward Buck Winston.

  “A hundred and twenty-five,” Buck said. “I’ll feel better with empty hands.”

  “One hundred and fifty,” Hall said. “I’m in the wind and don’t need the money.”

  “Settled then?” Brewster looked from face to face.

  The three men nodded at the same time. It was settled. A bright cold sun flooded the solarium.

  He called Denise in Chapel Hill. “How’s the weather down there?”

  “Don’t you talk to me about weather,” she said. “Tell me how you are.”

  “It’s done.” It was a partial lie but he didn’t want to explain. ”I’m going to New York in the morning to pick up the BMW that’s in storage. I’ll take my time driving down. Maybe stay overnight somewhere Tuesday night.”

  “I’ll see you Wednesday then?”

  “That house in Blowing Rock. The one you wanted to see. How about cutting a few classes?”

  “You know I will.”

  “A long weekend in the mountains. How does that sound to you?”

  “Perfect,” Denise said.

  He had no idea where the relationship would go with Denise but he knew he’d find a way to end it, with no hard feelings, if she stayed with the Company. Hall didn’t want to be in bed with them, literally or figuratively, any longer.

  “Got a pencil?” He gave her John Mix’s address, where the key to the house could be picked up and they said their good-byes.

  The next call was to John Mix in Blowing Rock, telling him to start up the water and power again, give Denise the key, and show her the way to the house.

  At eight that evening, after an early dinner with Stanford Brewster, Hall said his goodbye. Brewster’s man drove Hall into Washington. Hall checked into a motel a few blocks from the Madison Hill Bar and Grill.

  He watched television until a quarter of eleven and then he took the “J” file from his suitcase. He removed the pages and folded them into a thick wad. With those stuffed in his parka pocket, and the Python .357 next to them, he caught a cab outside the motel and directed the driver to the Madison Hill.

  Ray Stiggers and his shadow hadn’t arrived yet. Hall stopped in the doorway and had his look around. A good crowd, he thought. The Madison Hill was doing well. Not like in the old days when Bilbo first bought the place. Hard times then.

  The cocktail waitress met Hall in the aisle and wanted to play hostess. Hall said he’d take a place at the bar. He reached the stool at the far end of the bar and stood there, about to remove his parka.

  At that moment, Bilbo backed out of the kitchen, a plate in each hand. Sandwiches for the late eaters. “That goddam Carlos is in the sauce …”

  He saw Hall and almost dropped both plates. He steadied himself, grinned and placed the plates on the bar. “It’s you. Jesus Christ, I thought …” He grabbed Hall by the shoulders and hugged him. His hip banged against the Python and he said, “Ouch,” and backed away. “Man, that smarts.”

  The cocktail waitress pounced on the sandwiches and hurried away with them.

  “What does a man have to do to get a drink in a place like this?” Hall asked.

  “First one is on
the house.” Bilbo poured the Jack Daniels Black. It was a stiff drink. He poured about half that much for himself and leaned an elbow on the bar. “That trouble you were in …?”

  Bilbo let his voice trail off.

  “Done,” Hall said. “I’m halfway to my porch on the side of the mountain.”

  “Pissing off that porch …”

  “A mile down,” Hall said.

  “That’s the life.”

  “Cheers.” Hall drank.

  “Bad about those people. Rivers and Moss. I read about it in the Post.”

  “You ever meet Rivers?” The Jack Daniels warmed the pit of his stomach.

  “Once. Franklin brought him in. I had a feeling it wasn’t quite his kind of place. It wasn’t fit for a prince.”

  “That’s it.”

  “Or a titled Englishman. Lord, those tweeds.”

  Stiggers and his bonebreaker Bob had arrived a few minutes later.

  “Sit down, Ray,” Hall said. “Here’s somebody I want you to meet.”

  Stiggers eased into the stool on Hall’s left. Bob moved to the end of the bar and stood there, on Hall’s right.

  “First time here?” Bilbo extended his hand.

  “Yes.”

  “First time here the first drink is on me. Your pleasure?”

  “A beer,” Stiggers said.

  “You?” Bilbo turned to the bonebreaker.

  “He doesn’t drink,” Stiggers said. “A coffee, if that’s possible.”

  “You’ve got it.” Bilbo opened a Molson and put it on the bar in front of Stiggers. He waved down the waitress and ordered a coffee. Then he slid a glass toward Stiggers.

  “I don’t think I’m doing my manners,” Hall said. “This is Jackson. Better known as Bilbo to his friends.” Stiggers nodded. “And this is Ray Stiggers.”

  The waitress placed a coffee in front of Bob and moved away.

  “You own this place, Bilbo?” Stiggers asked.

  “Me and the bank.”

  “But he’s had some help paying the bills,” Hall said. “He’s been earning extra money, tax-free, working for Worldwide Security.”

  “He’s shitting you. I don’t do security work. This is the only job I have,” Bilbo said, patting the bar. “Crusty bartender.”